


Like This

by iwriteiloveiam



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Eventual Romance, Insecure Alec Lightwood, M/M, Magnus Bane Being Magnus Bane, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Angst, Soulmates Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-11-23 03:58:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11394891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwriteiloveiam/pseuds/iwriteiloveiam
Summary: Shadowhunters were not allowed to feel. Feelings made them weak. Incapable.So why, why, why did the name Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, the downworlder of all downworlders, make him feel so…so…No. No.Alec punched a wall.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Very first attempt to make these characters come to life :) 
> 
> Takes place after Magnus and Alec meet, while Alec is still grappling with his feelings (and sexual orientation). 
> 
> (I don't own any of the characters or the story itself, just this moment inspired by my favorite couple).

This didn’t make sense.

_Alec despised downworlders._ He was born and bred into a world which not only tolerated, but endorsed, such a secular way of thinking: Shadowhunters are superior beings who protect and serve, whose only ambition is to maintain peace between mundanes and the Shadow World. They slaughter demons in the name of the greater good, of restoring order, of duty. Is it not just instinct, a natural dislike formed from prejudices bound by blood, to hate downworlders? Those with demonic poison coursing through their veins? Tainted by the very evil forces he was expected to destroy?

Family, loyalty-that’s all Alec knew. All he was taught. Blood, blood was the strongest tie, not love. Certainly not passion. Emotion meant nothing. The only thing that mattered was honor. Respect. Dignity. He had to uphold his family’s reputation, their integrity; he had to make his parents proud, and he could only do that by becoming the one thing that ensured a life of animosity and cruelty and indifference towards those whose blood had cursed them, whose powers were fed by foul, unspeakable sources, who threatened to devastate the balance of life that was his mission to defend.

Shadowhunters were not allowed to feel. Feelings made them weak. Incapable.

So why, why, why did the name Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, the downworlder of all downworlders, make him feel so…so…

No. _No._

Alec punched a wall.

_Fuck._ His knuckles, pale white from strain, began to trickle red, blood trailing down along his wrist. He probably shattered a few, insignificant bones. Nothing a quick healing rune couldn’t fix. But he wanted the pain, wanted to feel the numbness, wanted something else to focus on rather than…whatever the hell it was he was thinking about before, or trying to figure out. His feelings? His life? What he wanted to do to…

_“Alec Lightwood.”_

_Fuck_ , again. He didn’t have to look; he recognized the sound of stiletto heels on pavement even before the worried pitch of his sister’s voice pierced through his self-depreciating breakdown.

“What the hell have you done to yourself?” He remained silent, only because…well, he didn’t really have a good explanation. And he was exhausted. And he was…confused. Which did not happen very often, and was something he was not likely to admit to the one person who might use it against him. _“Answer me._ ”

He closed his eyes, only to conceal their consequent roll of irritation, and sighed. He could tell that Isabelle’s hands were placed definitively on her hips, also without looking, and knew that his sister was not going to go anywhere soon. Not until she got what she wanted.

Motioning to the wall behind him, he mumbled under his breath, “I punched it.”

It wasn’t a big deal. He had gotten injured far worse before, sometimes even to the point of unconsciousness; a few broken fingers was hardly anything to be concerned about.

But by the way his sister regarded him, once he mustered the courage, and strength, to glance at her, he had a sinking feeling that she wasn’t as worried about the state of his hand as the reason for it.

“You _what?”_

Normally, Jace would use this as an opportunity to say something witty. A distraction to ease the tension. Unfortunately for Alec, “witty” wasn’t exactly something he was known for. He preferred the truth. _Honesty is always the best policy._ Unless, of course, you are facing a pissed-off Isabelle Lightwood. And the truth is that you might have feelings for a downworlder, a downworlder named Magnus Bane, whose a man, whose a Warlock, whose…

Apparently in the building.

“I’m going to have Magnus take a look at that,” Isabelle glared pointedly at his hand, which may have been gushing more blood than he originally suspected, “And then I expect you to enlighten me as to _why_ you were so suddenly, stupidly, and abnormally careless with your _aim._ ”

“Isabelle, don’t-” He reached out to stop her, only to wince as a sharp pain shot through his arm unexpectedly. Okay, perhaps he had inflicted more damage than he had intended. But asking for Magnus’s help? That was excessive and unnecessary. Magnus who had supposedly been in the Institute this entire time, unbeknownst to Alec, who had just, as of a few minutes ago, been pining away after him like some lovesick…

No, no, _no_ , that is _not_ what he was. He was most certainly not in love, or falling in love, or feeling anything that resembled anything _close_ to love, for the downworlder. He barely even _knew_ him. So why should he care if Magnus examined his hand? Besides the fact that it would only inconvenience the Warlock, who was probably here on business, placing wards, keeping Valentine and his creations out of the Institute indefinitely, when it could be easily remedied with his stele and a small, indiscernible rune. Izzy could draw it in a matter of seconds. Then he could avoid Magnus altogether and whatever it was about him that had triggered Alec’s downward spiral into emotional turmoil and apparent self-harm.

“Izzy, I’m fine,” Alec called after her disappearing figure. Rummaging for his stele, which was in his back pocket, he ignored the sting of his broken…wrist, definitely wrist- and waved the device in his other hand, “Just use my stele and draw the rune. You don’t need to-”

_Fuck._ She had already turned down the corridor, heels just an echo in the distance. Which meant he should expect Magnus shortly. If he wasn’t busy. Or if Alec was right about the way he felt about him, the flirtatious comments, the coy invitations for drinks, the suggestive lilt of his smile every time he made Alec blush uncomfortably. He just hoped Izzy wouldn’t dramatize it too much. She had a habit of making things appear worse than they actually were. Knowing her, she would make it sound like Alec had lost the limb entirely.

Leaning against the edge of a table, Alec tentatively held his wounded hand like a crutch against his chest, feeling the blood soak through his black shirt, and clenched his teeth. It wasn’t the most painful injury he’d ever experienced. He had made it out of fights which had left him immobilized for days. But it was definitely more than he bargained for, especially since with it would come inquiries, and a full-blown interrogation conducted by Isabelle herself. He’d be lucky if she didn’t throttle him.

He forced his stele back into his pocket. He could try to draw the healing rune himself, but it was a risk with a non-dominant hand, and one mistaken rune could spell disaster if copied incorrectly. He should’ve punched with the left. That would have saved him the trouble of having to face everything he had bottled up inside pretty much since he had met the Warlock.

What the hell was he going to say to Magnus if he asked? He hadn’t thought that far in advance. It would be easy to just blame it on a simple slip-up in Shadowhunter training; the boxing bag was conveniently located near the imprint of his fist into the brick, perhaps he had just overswung and landed his punch into the wall by accident. That would suffice Magnus, at least. Isabelle, on the other hand, would know better. Except that Magnus had witnessed first-hand Alec’s remarkable aim when he took down the demon that had threatened the Warlock in his apartment. And if he was right about Magnus liking him, like-liking him, than he was bound to notice a thing or two about the Shadowhunter’s ability to never miss a target, even if it was moving sporadically two hundred yards away from him.

That only left…what did that leave? There was no good reason for Alec to have punched that wall. Hell, he wasn’t even sure why he did it. But he did. And now his hand was broken, and Isabelle was irrational, and Magnus was…

The hairs on the back of Alec’s neck stood up immediately, alerting him of someone’s sudden presence in the room. He was no longer alone in his thoughts. And the only person who ever caught him that off guard-

“Alexander, what am I going to do with you?”

Magnus, in all his glittery, magical glory, stood casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, hair spiked, with a smirk that made Alec’s breath hitch in his throat and forget the pain, his life, the world.

That was what was so dangerous. Because Magnus made him forget. When he looked at Magnus, nothing else mattered. Everything that Alec had ever learned to hold dear, to consider vital, important, essential, all of his responsibilities as a Shadowhunter and leader of the New York Institute, as a brother, as a parabati, all of that was rendered completely insignificant. He simply didn’t care about anything except for the Warlock. And Alec had to care. There was too much resting on his shoulders for him to be so selfish.

That didn’t stop him from wanting to throw Magnus against a wall and kiss him.

“Isabelle told me what happened,” Magnus had taken Alec’s silence for confusion and proceeded to explain, “I was here placing wards-”

“I figured, ” Alec hadn’t meant to sound curt, but he could tell by the way his eyes widened that Magnus was surprised, and perhaps slightly hurt, by his tone. “I’m fine.”

“Alec,” Alec couldn’t help but notice the change of address, from intimate to impersonal, “You don’t have to put up the overtly masculine, egotistically inflated Shadowhunter front around me. I can see that you’re-”

“Fine,” Alec finished, turning away and releasing his cradled hand. “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt.”

He started to walk towards the other side of the room, towards the weapons, to make it seem like Magnus had rudely interrupted and was now preventing him from completing an important task. Anything to make him go away. He wasn’t ready to confront this yet.

But Magnus was persistent. “If I’m not allowed to treat you,” he feigned indifference by inspecting a layer of polish on his nails. Alec surveyed him out of the corner of his eye, careful not to make the Warlock aware he was being watched, closely. “-then can I at least know how your hand was shattered?”

_Best stick with honesty._ Lying didn’t come naturally to Alec. “It was a mistake.”

“Enlightening.”

Alec ignored the hiss and reached up to remove his bow and shaft from their steel encasement. Immense pain shot through his arm, however, as he grasped them with his bad hand and lifted, a sign of defiance and determination gone horribly wrong. They clattered to the floor, seemingly along with Alec’s dignity. He must have cried out unknowingly, because Magnus suddenly appeared by his side, extending his arms for balance.

“Here,” the Warlock guided him to the table, “Sit.”

Without protest, Alec followed the downwordler’s instructions, edging himself onto the cool metal. He held his wrist against his chest again, breathing heavily, and tried to stifle his moans. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. Alec couldn’t tell if it was the pain, or Magnus’s proximity, that had his head spinning uncontrollably. The Warlock glanced up at him for permission, to which Alec only managed a terse nod in return. Then, he felt long, cold fingers glide across his skin, prodding his hand tentatively. Shivers danced along his spine as he watched Magnus explore his palm, then his fingers, examining each and every detail of Alec’s hand as if it were imperative he memorize it. No...as if he already had.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Magnus smiled up at him as he worked, lashes lowered suggestively. “As much fun as it is for me to play doctor, I’d prefer you not to be in pain.”

“Um,” his throat dry, Alec attempted to form a coherent thought but couldn’t find it in him to voice it. Instead, he licked his lips and looked away, the heat of Magnus’ gaze warming his face. The downworlder laughed softly.

After a moment of quiet concentration (and much labored breathing on Alec’s part, mostly to keep his heart from jumping out of his chest), Magnus finished off the final bandage to Alec’s newly formed cast. Somehow he had conjured it during a cascade of bright, blue sparks. A sling, as well, which he helped to fit over Alec’s left shoulder carefully and slowly, his fingers lingering a moment on his waist.

“There, brave Shadowhunter,” Magnus stepped back and admired his handiwork. “That should heal nicely. Though, I must say, while you do play a very convincing damsel, Alexander, I’d suggest the next time you want to see me this badly, just ask me out. Save yourself the trouble of-” he motioned to his cast with a smirk and added, “But I can’t promise you won’t get injured again. A date with me could get very… _physical_.”

Alec immediately stiffened as Magnus reached out to playfully move a dark, tousled curl off his face. “I don’t-” he snapped, too exasperated, too appalled to respond coherently. “What, why, no, why would you think” he shook his head a little too aggressively, jerking his other hand away when Magnus gently tried to grasp it, and glanced around frantically for any spying eyes that might have witnessed Magnus’ flirtatious advance, or worse: misinterpreted Alec’s stammering as encouragement, or reciprocation. He did not want to start rumors. Gossip could destroy his reputation, his family’s legacy.

Flustered, he shoved past Magnus to retrieve his fallen bow and arrows, ignoring the pain, “Thank you. You can go now.”

“Alexander, I didn’t mean-”

_“Stop calling me that.”_

Whirling around, Alec allowed his seething rage, at himself for being so pathetically gullible, for letting this go on for so long, to the point of boiling over, for not being who everyone expected him to be, and not being able to accept who he was or how he felt, and at Magnus, for getting under his skin so easily, to completely consume this moment, and he whispered, through gritted teeth and forming tears, “You don’t know the first thing about me. You don’t know how I feel. So stop acting like you know me better than everyone else, because you don’t. And you never will. Okay? Because…because I can’t.”

Slowly, his temper died down as his chest rose and fell with deep, heavy breaths, but the look of horror and shame on Magnus’ face…it twisted his features into something unrecognizable. The illusion was shattered. Alec had done more than just break his hand; he’d broken Magnus’ pure and precious heart, one that had taken centuries to mend, along with any hope that they could get past their differences. Now, it was just a Shadowhunter and a Warlock facing each other-everything else that was raw and unspoken simply dissolved into the tense, hardened silence in which they regarded one another.

“Have Isabelle draw you a rune,” Magnus said finally, “It’ll help.”

“Magnus, I’m-” Alec took a step toward him instinctively.

Magnus flinched, and Alec fought the urge to punch the wall again, angry that such a small movement could cause him so much disappointment. He was trying to close the distance between them, not create it.

Or was he? If he wanted to get to know Magnus, if he really wanted to see where this, whatever the hell it was, was going, would go, possibly, probably…then why was he determined to drive him away? Alec wasn’t completely heartless. He knew what his curtness did, how it hurt people. It impacted how people acted around him; except for his family, no one teased him, told him a joke, laughed. He wasn’t even associated with having a registerable sense of humor. And then there was Magnus, life of the party, vibrant, beautiful, dazzling, coy, adventurous. Everything Alec wasn’t. Everything Alec seemingly didn’t want.

“I’m sorry.” It came out. Just like that. Without hesitation, without thought. Apologizing was not something Alec did. Ever. But this Warlock held more power over him than he could put into words. As much as Alec hated to sound so cliché, he had fallen under some sort of spell. Since he met Magnus, he hadn’t been the same. Hadn’t wanted anything but him. He couldn’t let him just leave like that, upset, confused, hurt; he had to know, know exactly what he did to Alec, how he made him feel every time they locked eyes, every time he spoke, like a moth drawn to a flame, he was inevitable, inescapable, _irresistible_. Alec couldn’t think around him. Why had he ever doubted he had feelings for him? He did. He liked the downworlder. A lot. More than he was willing to admit. He had to tell him-

Nothing. He said nothing. Magnus turned around when he reached the doorframe, glancing back at Alec over his shoulder, expecting more, expecting _something_ , and when Alec stared at him, completely speechless, he simply shrugged, “I’ll send you the bill.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the feedback! :) 
> 
> I thought this was going to just be one chapter...but I just couldn't let it go. Follows a week after the first chapter. Enjoy! 
> 
> As always, comments welcome :)

_He shouldn’t be here._

It was as simple as that. Not an overwhelming urge to run. Not a desperate desire to melt into the floor or retreat into a dark corner. Not fear or shame. Just basic instinct. And Alec had always trusted his gut- it was the reason he was a good fighter and a reliable leader. Izzy, Jace, Clary – they all followed their hearts (and, in some cases, debatably their hormones). Emotions often led them ashtray, clouded their judgement, closed them off to reality. To them, Alec was cold, distant. He followed the rules. He had committed himself to the Clave’s strict and rigorous laws from his first rune, and since had not once faltered. Honour. Loyalty. Respect. All were important to him, each a different facet of his identity. When it came to the Shadowhunter Code, Alec did not waver. But his decisions weren’t made solely based on his values: no, much to everyone’s probable surprise, Alec acted on more than just the Clave’s mandates. When he sensed something was off, he didn’t stand on the side-lines. Not when he thought someone he cared about was in danger.

It was just that…well, right now, intuition was telling him that showing up on Magnus’ doorstep, uninvited to a party, was most likely the worst idea he’d ever had. Ever.

_We don’t really celebrate holidays._

Is what Izzy should have said to Magnus on the phone earlier that week, at least in Alec’s mind. It was true; Shadowhunters normally didn’t have the luxury of observing such ‘special occasions,’ given that the mundane world was almost constantly in disarray, on the precipice of apocalyptic chaos, threatened by forces beyond reason, plagued by demons that exceeded even the imaginations of those who encouraged their children to believe in an old man who flies across the world in a sleigh steered by reindeer, or a giant rabbit who hides eggs full of candy. But this year, apparently, was an exception. According to everyone else.

To be fair, the week had been relatively quiet. Valentine had dropped completely off the grid, any leads on his whereabouts had already been pursued, and Downworlders, even reportedly unstable ones, had been playing nice with the Clave (too afraid to pull anything that could potentially risk their only defence against the Circle). But it was only a false sense of security, of calm. Alec knew they were in the eye of the storm. Things were only going to get worse, much worse, and they needed to be ready. He couldn’t afford to screw this up, not as leader of the Institute, not as a Lightwood, and certainly not for something as trivial as a Fourth of July party at Magnus’ apartment in Brooklyn.

“I’m not going” he’d said as soon as his sister had hung up with the Warlock.

Of course, telling Isabelle Lightwood you weren’t going to ‘the party of the century’ was akin to setting off a nuclear bomb in the center of New York. At least going only meant one casualty: Alec’s dignity. He had run into Magnus a few times since their…moment in the training room, but he had never so much as looked in Alec’s direction. He’d hoped the Warlock’s chilly behavior would speed along the recovery process. Make him forget that…well, get over it, whatever it was. He’d lost his chance. Magnus had made that perfectly clear. No more late-night texts, sly invitations to drinks, or stolen glances. He wasn’t that surprised, actually. Sooner or later, he knew the downworlder would lose interest in him: after all, Magnus had lived _centuries_. If anything, Alec was just another name to add to the list. Another conquest. The fact that Magnus had even noticed him in the first place was the real shock.

What would take Alec weeks of burying himself in work and punching more walls, Magnus seemed to have already mastered. The Shadowhunter was barely a blip on his radar.

Which is why, as he watched Izzy walk up to the door and knock loudly, the sound inaudible against the raging electronic rhythm that visibly shook the entire building, he didn’t want to run or hide or avoid. The Warlock was in danger, he could feel it, and he wasn’t going to stand by.

If he’d thought of it earlier, Alec would’ve warned Magnus to cancel the event. Valentine was looking to make a statement to put him back in the spotlight. And if was going to try something risky, why not target a gathering of unsuspecting, under-the-influence downworlders on a day dedicated to patriotism and explosives? It was the perfect way to send a message to his supporters: blow up the High Warlock’s party, claim the innocent lives of thousands of downworlders, all in the spirit of staying true to the cause.

Once he’d shared his theory, everyone agreed: Valentine was not likely to pass up this opportunity. Given that Shadowhunters didn’t celebrate holidays, and Izzy had been the only one even invited, the party was sure to only consist of New York’s ‘premiere league’ downworlders. And, due to the exorbitant amounts of people flooding through portals, Magnus’ wards would be weak, if not completely down. The whole place would be utterly undefended.

Even if Magnus didn’t want to see him, Alec simply didn’t care; it wasn’t just his life at stake. Izzy was going, no matter what, along with Jace, Clary, and Simon. And Alec was going to be there, just in case, to protect his family and the fate of the Downworld. If he happened to be Magnus’ ‘knight in shining armor’ (Izzy’s words, not his), then, okay.

It didn’t mean that, as soon as they’d reached Magnus’ apartment and saw the display of colorful lights pulsing from within, he didn’t have to fight the opposing sense that he shouldn’t be there. Not when he had left everything unresolved with Magnus. Not when the Warlock probably hated him. Not when Magnus’ bedroom would only be feet away, and all he wanted to do, still, even after the Warlock’s silence, was tear off his clothes, throw him against the sheets, and…

The door swung open, and the hallway was instantly filled with sounds of glass-breaking, wild laughter, and crazy electronic music. As his eyes adjusted to the blinding, hypnotic lights, Alec took a sharp breath, expecting to see Magnus standing in the doorframe, glaring at him. Instead, a random man, covered in glitter and confetti, blinked at them in confusion, and then hastily waved them inside, not bothering to comment on their obvious black runes.

Alec had taken two steps into the apartment before feeling like he clearly didn’t belong.

Izzy had tried to get him to wear something a bit more… _festive_ …so that they didn’t stick out as the security detail, but Alec had argued for his usual, form-fitting black t-shirt and jeans. This was a mistake. All eyes were on him. While the others slipped easily into the crowd, donned in differing shades of red, white, and blue, Alec stood out as an obvious party crasher. As if he didn’t feel uneasy enough without his bow and arrows, which the others had forced him to leave behind to maintain their cover, the wary stares he received made him resent Magnus for even throwing the careless party. _He knows Valentine is still out there. So he’s putting everyone’s lives at risk…for what?_ So he could show off? So he could be the centre of attention and feel good about himself? _What?_

“I think we should spilt up,” Jace shouted over writhing bodies “Somebody should find Magnus and tell him what’s going on.”

“I’ll search the perimeter,” Alec volunteered a little too eagerly, and then swallowed, hard. “You know, for, uh, Circle members. Not for…”

Clary gave him a look, and then sighed, grabbing Simon’s hand. “Simon and I will find Magnus.”

“We will?” Clary jabbed him in the ribs, and he laughed nervously, “I mean, we will!”

Not wanting to meet his sister’s fiercely disapproving gaze or Jace’s raised eyebrows, Alec nodded tersely and then headed for the outdoor balcony; he would start there, away from the crowd, where Magnus was most likely taking body shots off of or dancing on a table with some attractive, glittery fairy. Just because he was over him didn’t mean he wanted to see the Warlock with someone else. Magnus was a notorious flirt. And based on the number of stunning attendees, who had probably fantasized about him at one point or another, like Alec did constantly, this party offered him plenty of willing partners.

Except for those who seemed to have already settled on a companion- which was basically everyone on the balcony. _Great._ Alec couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he stepped around each couple, each exhibiting a different stage in the evolutionary progression towards sex. Splayed in various positions, he had to expertly dodge a few flying limbs before he finished his round. Fortunately, they all appeared to be too involved with each other to pose a serious threat. Unfortunately, that meant he had to return to the rest of the party.

Slipping back inside, Alec scanned the room for the others.

“Why, hello there.”

Alec turned, only to come face-to-face with an incredibly beautiful vampiress. Her eyes raked over his torso hungrily, and she licked her lips. “Who are _you_?” But she seemed not to care as much as about his name; instead, her pale hand began to trace delicate lines along his collarbone, and she leaned in close enough for him to smell her strong rose perfume and the alcohol that lingered on her breath. “I’m normally not this forward, but…” he could feel her whisper on his neck. “I’ve always wanted a taste of Shadowhunter. Follow me back to my place? We could have _a lot_ of fun.”

“Uh,” Alec slowly extracted her arms from around his waist. “No. But thank you,” he blurted out, unsure of what to say. _Where were the others?_

For the next twenty minutes, Alec made his way through the disorienting crowd, trying to track down Izzy or Jace while fending off numerous passes. Just as another drink was practically thrown against his chest with a suggestively slurred “Here, handsome” and Alec was beginning to wonder why he even bothered, clearly no one would care even _if_ Valentine _was_ here, a familiar voice sent hot shivers trickling down his spine, a voice he hadn’t heard in the past week. A voice he missed.

“Don’t drink that.”

He glanced over his shoulder and graced Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, with one of those rare, dazzling Lightwood smiles. Suddenly, all of the tension in his body ceased. He could finally relax his rigid posture, which had become stiff and tight after each unsolicited invasion of privacy. Magnus was here. Magnus was talking to him. Maybe he’d finally get his chance after all…to tell him...everything...everything he'd been thinking...about...

_“Alec!”_

All the noise, the lights- it all faded away. He felt a pair of arms close around him.  _Magnus._  And then everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for all the feedback :) 
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it! Everyone in this series is just so much fun to write...
> 
> Have at it in the comments, let me know what you think :)

_“Come here,” Magnus tugged on his hand, “I want to show you something.”_

_They climbed to the roof, which overlooked the entirety of downtown New York City. The view was absolutely incredible; he’d never seen anything quite like it. The buildings lit up with colourful fireworks. From the streets below, Alec could hear people cheering, laughing._

_“Now this,” Magnus held out his palm, and a few, small blue sparks emanated from his skin. “This is how I’ve felt in the past, about the others I’ve been with over my many centuries.” Then, he gestured to the cloudless night sky, full of life, and colour, and beauty. Sparks reflected in the mirrored windows, in the crystal fountains, in the stars. “And this, this is how I feel about you, Alexander. This is how you_ make _me feel.”_

_So don’t worry. I choose you. I want to be with you._

Alec awoke with a start, breathing heavily. He’d been dreaming about Magnus again.

“You’re awake.”

That voice wasn’t lost on him. Only it wasn’t in a dream, it was real. _Right, of course._ The party.

Stepping out from the shadows, Alec expected to see life-of-the-party Magnus, coated in layers of foundation and glitter, wearing an _inventive_ Uncle Sam costume that left little to the imagination. Instead, he looked like he hadn’t slept for days. The black eyeliner he normally wore was smudged, the spikes of his hair limp and lifeless, and his outfit, a black tank-top with black jeans that hung low on his muscular waist and a silk robe, completely dishevelled. If he didn’t look so pale with worry, he would’ve assumed the Warlock had just had sex.

Only, _where…?_ He reached out and felt the cool caress of foreign, satin sheets. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the canopy of deep red that hung over him, draped like grape vines on a wooden four-poster bed that was most definitely _not his._ Alec’s heart seized. _He…and, and Magnus…here…did they…how, when…the party…what…_ **what?**

He felt like he was waking from one of his many fantasies, only he couldn’t remember anything; had he found Magnus and, in the heat of the moment, confessed his feelings? Was he so nervous he just blocked it all out? Was the night really that much of a blur? _Did they kiss?_ By the looks of it, they’d done much more than that…but then why couldn’t he even remember the taste of Magnus on his mouth? He wanted to _so badly._ He wanted to relive every second for eternity. If he’d finally worked up on the courage to show Magnus _exactly_ how he made him feel, he didn’t want to forget a single detail. Not when he had wanted this for so long. But his head ached, and he could barely keep his eyes open. All he could remember was walking into the party…losing track of the others…having a few drinks…Magnus’ voice…flailing limbs…

 _Fuck._ They had sex. _They had sex._ Alec couldn’t breathe. _Sex._ They had **sex.**

“Alec,” Magnus raced to his side, his eyes wide with concern. But Alec was past whatever magic he could conjure that would soothe him.

Alec had only ever felt like this once before; he’d seen Jace run towards a demon, his stele having been thrown from his hand, after it had attacked Izzy with its sharp, poisonous claws, leaving her completely motionless just feet away. Alec, too, had been knocked to the ground, unable to move as he watched Jace tackle the creature. In that instant, time froze, and he felt the earth shift beneath his feet. Everything he knew, he questioned. Nothing was certain. Only sheer terror and panic remained. He was on the verge of losing everyone he loved, everything that mattered to him. They had sex, and he couldn’t even remember it. He had finally allowed himself to _be himself_ and he didn’t even know how it happened.

“Alec, **_Alec,_** look at me,” Magnus clung to him desperately. The pain in his voice was sharp; his fingers trembling as they guided Alec’s eyes to meet his. “You’re safe, you’re okay.”

That was it. Alec couldn’t take it anymore.

He pulled the Warlock toward him, closing the distance until there was only an inch between their lips. For a moment, the only sound was their shared breath.

 “I can, uh, leave, you know, if, uh, you guys want some alone time, or something.”

Ice suddenly shot through Alec’s veins. Painfully, he let go of Magnus’ shirt, only to turn over and hazily catch Simon’s blush and sheepish shrug as he rose awkwardly from the loveseat pushed up against Magnus’ bedroom window.

“Us, too,” Izzy carried in a bucket of ice; Clary trailed behind her with fresh towels. Both tried to supress their pleased smiles, but he knew they had been waiting almost as long as he had for him to get up the nerve for that kiss.

And then there was Jace, slouched comfortably in an armchair near the bed, absent-mindedly juggling his stele in one hand, and completely silent. Alec didn’t dare look at him, not when he had been keeping something like this from his parabatai, but he knew that if Jace didn’t have a witty or sarcastic comment to make, then he was thinking about something very seriously. If he had to guess, it was probably along the lines of _why didn’t my brother and supposed best friend tell me he was gay?_

Well, great. This was fun. Alec had started out thinking this was a dream come true, waking up in Magnus’ bed, and now he was beginning to realize it was more like his worst nightmare. _Somebody shoot me now. Please?_

“What-” Alec winced and cleared his throat. His mouth was dry, his voice cracked. Slowly, he lowered himself back down on the pillows. “What happened?”

“Alexander, here” Magnus seemed to snap himself out of some sort-of dazed reverie and reached for a bottle on the night stand. “Drink this.” The potion was a welcome relief to the stiffness in his muscles. His eyes met Magnus’ momentarily, but they were dark orbs, unreadable. With a flick of his wrist, one of Clary’s towels landed in his hands, and he used it to dab at Alec’s forehead gently. Soon it was damp with sweat. _His_ sweat. Only then did Alec notice how feverish he felt. _Am I sick?_ As was fairly obvious at this point, he didn’t have sex with Magnus. So then…. what the hell happened at the party?

Speaking of which, what happened _to_ the party? Unless Magnus created a ward to block out the incessant bass in the bedroom, the entire apartment was completely still; no rumbling floors, no quivering walls, no flashing strobe lights. He glanced at the clock. _8:03 pm._ But that was before they even got there… _was it the next day already?_

“Alec,” Jace was stern, his usual light-hearted humour gone. He clenched his stele in his fists and leaned forward on his knees, preparing himself to give bad news. Alec knew, deep down, whatever he had to say, he wasn’t going to like it. “Do you remember anything?”

“Jace,” Izzy’s voice cut like glass. “Let him rest. He can hear this later.”

“No…no, it’s fine. Just-” Alec swallowed the panic that rose slightly in his voice. “Just getting to the party. And…and checking the balcony for…and then I heard Magnus…and then…” Black. Nothing.

He watched as each one of his friends cast worried looks at each other from across the room. “Seriously,” he propped himself up on his elbows, cringing as he felt dull pain radiate throughout his body. Like he had…bruises. And broken bones, numb from Magnus’ magic. “What aren’t you telling me?”

There was a moment of heavy silence before Magnus finally spoke.

“Alexander, you’ve been missing for three weeks.”


End file.
